The Man Who Sold The World
by rvr idtq
Summary: Even in the face of death and the world's more powerful force of evil, he never lost control. Because Blacks always have the last laugh.
1. Chapter 1

(prologue)

The greatest difference between the two young men who more or less fell around the corner and into the recess between two shops was that one's jacket was, to all appearances, made of genuine Hebridian Black dragonhide, while the other's was made of worn cowhide. They scrambled to their feet immediately, but the cowhide one, taller and broader when standing, quickly pinned the other's shoulder to the wall with one hand while conjuring a brick wall to cover up the entrance with the other.

"Look," he gasped. He grabbed the other's hair with his wand hand and swung his head around so that the two were eye to eye. "Look-"

"You could have asked nicely."

"Shut up. I know we don't get on-"

"Seeing as you ran off an all."

"-We don't get on, but this is important. I _know_ you."

"I bet you changed my nappies and everything."

"Don't be stupid, Reg."

"Oh right. I remember now. Always too busy cleaning up your own shite." He glanced down at the wrinkles in the dragonhide and sighed, letting the breath whistle through the gap of his overbite.

The older one grabbed the other shoulder and slammed the man's body against the wall. "_Listen._ Things are not right. You know that much." He glanced to the makeshift shield hiding them from the open street. "You need to stay out of the way. Leave the country if you want, I don't care, but don't get caught up. Especially not like Bella."

"You hate Bella."

"Yeah, and so do you. Do you think I gave her this talk? She's a waste."

"And I'm not? Last time you came around you called me something like 'a spoiled brat with no spine and bad teeth.'"

"Yeah, and you are. Your teeth are a little better maybe." He looked, for a moment, as though he might smile before his expression became flat again. "Bella and the rest are mad. They'll get it in the end. But you can still get out. Just out of school, no real connections, no real notoriety. Forget this Black shite and go to New York or Paris."

"You forget. You have money. I leave, and I have nothing."

"Then come with me. We'll go into hiding here and wait this out, maybe even help somehow."

The younger man laughed, almost manically, certainly loudly enough to make the other glance to the false wall a second time. "Easy for you. You've done just what you wanted for years. But I've been hiding for eighteen, and I've had enough."

And with that, he vanished, leaving his brother to fall forward into the wall and curse at more than the impact.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hiya, Trixie. How are things then?" Bellatrix Lestrange swore loudly as one of her lesser cousins swung around a doorframe and into the main entranceway to the house. Regulus Black ranked as only a minor inconvenience with her, mostly because he was hardly threatening, being dull-witted and otherwise unremarkable in looks and abilities. Sadly, Sirius had taken all of the attractive qualities along with the repulsive ones, leaving his brother to be uninteresting at best. But she was surprised to find him lurking at 12 Grimmauld Place.

"So what, are you raising billywigs in your bedroom now?" she snarled as he turned to face the wall and then leaned backward until his shoulders rested on the opposite wall.

"Thas kid stuff, Trixie." He grunted slightly as he walked both feet up the wall until he was wedged across the hallway, two or three feet off the ground. "You don't think I would waste an empty house like that, do you?"

Her lip curled slightly as Regulus dropped several notches on her scale and slid several inches toward the ground. "Where are they this year?"

"Well, you know, the twenty-fifth is a big anniversary. They left contact information for someplace in Bermuda, but it's no good. I tried on the Floo network last night. Funny you not knowing they'd be gone."

"Yes, you know how I love to visit my favorite aunt and uncle," she said flatly. "Now, would you mind moving a bit so I can just pop into the library and then leave you to play with yourself like a good boy?"

"Aw, don't be like that, Trixie." He smiled, and Bellatrix paused at the sight of his slight overbite.

"What happened to your teeth?"

"Sporting accident."

"No, I mean they're better than they used to be."

"Yeah. Sporting accident. I fucked over one of the Ravenclaw beaters back in March and got a club to the jaw. By the time I came to and objected, Pomfrey had almost made them perfect."

"I'll be getting those books then."

"You don't have to lift a finger, Trixie. You know I'll fetch you anything you need."

"I can manage," she said coldly.

He shrugged and fell completely to the ground, laughing as his skull knocked against the wall. Bellatrix stepped daintily over the boy, pondering for a moment if it was a curse or a blessing that such a fool would (at the rate Sirius was going) inherit the house, the family treasures, everything.

"Before you go, Trixie, one more thing," began Regulus. She turned and glared down at him, her fingers curling as though around a wand.

"And what is that?"

"Panty line, dear."

---

"Are you keeping billywigs somewhere around here?"

"Shut up, Tolly. She's gone, isn't she?"

"It was a compliment, man. I haven't seen acting that good since Baz Freeland told Cynthia Jameson that he absolutely loved Celestina Warbeck's new single back in sixth year."

"And then remember how she sang it to him, in the Great Hall at breakfast the next day?" Both began to laugh.

"Gorgeous and tone-deaf." Tolly sighed and stretched out on the sofa, eyes closed and lips creeping into a smile.

"Wait, that's it!" Regulus leapt across the room and tilted the sofa enough for the sandy-haired boy to roll onto the floor.

"What the hell, Reg? Right onto my sunburn." Peter Tolliver groaned as he sat up and inspected the peeling skin on his bare shoulders.

"It's not my fault you have a pale complexion and a sick desire to cook yourself alive. Anyway, this is big. I've just remembered- Baz Freeland was shite at potions!"

"Did your cousin curse you or something? We need someone good at potions for this."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Don't be dumb. We don't know anyone good, right? But Freeland somehow went from having panic attacks every class to at least passing. Which means he got a tutor. Which means he knows who was good enough to do their own work and have time to deal with him."

"Where is Baz then?"

"Working, I expect. Doesn't he have an uncle in Diagon Alley?"

"Field trip?"

"Just let me get my purse, dahhling."

---

a/n: This is sort of chapter one, part one, because I'm leaving today for Germany, and I won't be able to write anymore before I go. Sorry about this being delayed, but I really haven't worked out the kinks plot-wise.


	3. Chapter 3

"Don't fuck with it, man"

"Suppose I were thinking of purchasing this owl cage. I'd be wanting to examine it properly in order to make an informed decision."

"Yeah, but you're not thinking of buying it. You're thinking of messing with poor Baz's head."

"Shows what you know." Regulus Black rattled the cage in a feeble attempt to shake off several decades of grime.

"What, you have an owl now?"

"Of course not." He smiled. "This is for Trixie."

Peter Tolliver laughed. "She's not that thin."

"Ah, but that's what they gave us wands for." He took his own out and twirled it menacingly at first, then raised it up to eye level and watched it cut the dingy junk shop into smears. "Funny things, wands. I mean, they really are a bit outmoded. No style in a stick."

"What, would you prefer a muggle ray gun like in those shite move-um things you're always watching?"

Black snapped his hand so the wand stood rigid at attention, then tucked it between his belt and the tight black jeans. "I'm fuckin' serious. At least pick something a bit more suave than a knobby old branch. Plastics are where it's at nowadays."

"I thought you stopped hanging around that muggle girl."

"Oh yeah, but you know, once you're on the scene, it's hard to go back to the world of inbreeding magical wankers."

"Says the heir apparent of the biggest family of said wankers this side of the turn of the century." With a more than elaborate gesture, plucked the birdcage from his friend's raised hand and placed it back on the shelf.

"Not heir. I have yet to knock off my brother or see anyone else do so."

Tolliver shrugged. "You might as well be though."

Black glanced up and down the otherwise deserted shop. "You did call for him when we came in, didn't you?"

"Maybe he's gone deaf since June. You never know. These things sneak up on you."

"Sudden absolute deafness sneaks up on you? And you think I'm wasted…." He picked up something like a large Oriental vase and checked the price tag spellotaped to the bottom. He passed it gingerly from hand to hand for a moment, frowning slightly. "You know, I doubt this is genuine," he said, turning to his friend.

"Really now?" said Tolliver with one eyebrow raised. "And what makes you think that?"

"Far too light for a real spirit jar. These things were usually lead lined in the early days."

"You're a fucking wealth of knowledge."

"Aren't I?" He smiled again with his eyes almost closed and focused on the door behind the counter to his right. Taking the vase in his right hand, he raised it masterfully above his head and then brought it down again with a spring-loaded pitch that left it shattered into thousands of glazed splinters on the dusty floor. "See? Nothing but cheap porcelain with a half-arsed enamel job."

The door sprang open and a long, angular face with impossibly wide eyes burst into the room.

"Hallo, Baz" began Regulus. "Sorry about the vase, but Tolly here just couldn't believe that it wasn't the real deal. I'll pay you back the five sickles it's worth."

"But-"

"No buts, my dear boy. When's your lunch hour?"

Basil Freeland blinked several times and then shook his head slightly. "I usually just eat in the back of the shop. In fact, that's what I was just d-"

"Nonsense, my boy." Regulus crossed the room and slapped the shorter boy on the back. "We going out for a bit, so slap a closed sign in the window, and we'll be off. My treat."

--

"And I thought you two hated me," giggled the dear old Baz twenty minutes and several butterbeers later.

"I'm hurt. Really, I am," sighed Tolliver.

"Yes, Baz. You were always our favorite Hufflepuff."

"But all the switching my books out of my bag when I wasn't looking and the popping out from around corners to try and get me to piss myself….?"

"You have to excuse Reg here. He can't help the fact that he doesn't know how to properly show affection." Tolliver raised a hand up to his mouth. "He comes from a cold family atmosphere," he whispered loudly.

"I may be pissed but I'm not deaf," grunted Regulus. "And you don't have to whisper when what you're saying's true." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, on to business."

"Business?" asked Basil.

"You _are_ a weakling," muttered Tolliver as he did a quick count of the empty bottles clustered around Basil's side of the table.

"We need help with a potion," said Regulus as he discreetly kicked what he thought was one of Tolliver's shins. He shifted his eyes to meet Tolliver's for the brief second it to be sure that Tolliver was discreetly wincing and then focused his gaze on the slightly swaying Basil.

"You know I'm ssshite at potionssss…." slurred Basil as though he had finally discovered a secret pleasure in the letter 's.'

"Yes, but you passed. Several consecutive years in fact."

"Yeah, well…."

"Okay, so let's just assume for the sake of everyone getting home in time for dinner that you had a tutor, a fellow student. Now, who might this person be?"

"Persons, you mean."

"You had more than one."

"Well, yeah. First Slugworth put me with this bastard from your house. Snape." Regulus' face fell. "But my grades got even worse, see? So Slugworth set me up with this brilliant Gryffindor muggle born. God, she was gorgeous. I remember knocking a stack of books on the floor just to see her bend over to pick them up…."

Regulus' eyes attempted to roll back into his skull. "Her name?"

"Fuck…can't remember. Lila? No…." His eyes widened. "Wait- you'll know her anyway. She went around with your brother's crowd."

Regulus sighed slowly. "Was it Lily Evans?"

"Yeah, thas her!" Basil smiled contentedly and gently closed his eyes.

Regulus stood up stiffly. "Well, it's been lovely seeing you Basil, but we have business to attend to." Tolliver unsteadily rose to his feat. "Just tell Tom to put it all on the Black tab when you wake up."

"Right," murmured Basil as he tipped forward onto the table.

The two crossed the pub and exited onto the muggle street. "Poor old Basil. Never could hold his liquor," sighed Regulus.

"Where now then?" asked Tolliver.

"Not sure. You need to sober up though."

"You need to hide your goddamn wand. This is a muggle street, idiot."

"Right. I knew I brought you along for a reason." Regulus plucked a stick from the ground and transfigured it into an exact replica of his own wand. He tucked the wand into his belt at his left hip, the copy at his right.

"What the hell…?" began Tolliver.

"There. I'm a drummer now."


	4. Chapter 4

One would assume, or at least hope, that the sort of family that would make properties unplottable for the fun of it and that would conspicuously neglect to name locations for gatherings would also be the sort of family that would produce members who would rapidly develop a keen sense of direction. But once again, Regulus Black had somehow drawn the short straw.

Thus, the determination with which he strode through muggle London was really just a show put on to keep Peter Tolliver from hyperventilating, which already seemed inevitable. Regulus felt uncomfortable in the unusually clear and bright mid-June sunlight, and not entirely because he was overdressed. He really had no idea where he was going and what he intended to do when he got there. His great plan had reached an obstacle that was certainly enough to merit dropping the subject entirely, something that he had done on a number of occasions. By the time the pair had traveled three blocks what might have been north, the idealistic, conniving side of his psyche was very nearly exhausted. His libido then decided to seize the opportunity. He felt a slight mental click that redirected his energies to a vague need for a female presence. Tolliver, jogging slightly to catch up with Regulus, saw a dangerous flash of something behind Regulus' eyes.

"Where are...we going?" wheezed Tolliver. If he had been born muggle, the poor boy would have been diagnosed with asthma and given an inhaler that would have changed the course of his life significantly for the better. As it was, he had suffered from a number of temporary magical "cures" for what his grandmother had titled "our Peter's funny not-breathing thing" and had, by age 18, resigned himself for a life of uncomfortable and random near-suffocations.

"To see a girl," muttered Regulus. He glanced over at Tolliver, who was still only slightly pink in the face. He had learned, through the course of his time at Hogwarts, that it wasn't until Tolliver was the color of a well-ripened tomato that he was really in danger.

"What girl?"

"Just a girl." At this point Regulus realized that he was in trouble. He really only knew a handful of girls, and most of them disliked him significantly. His love life had been star-crossed long before he even saw his first pubic hair by way of having the sort of older brother that everyone hates just a little bit for being too beautiful. The moment McGonagall had summoned "Black, Regulus" to the Sorting Hat, there had been a visible wave of excitement among the girls (and a few of the boys) who felt their odds double. That was, until Regulus had parted from the crowd and revealed himself to be relatively awkward and plain with a conspicuous overbite.

In effect, Regulus was making the two of them very lost in the middle of a crowded muggle city with no specific goal in mind.

"You know, I really have nothing better to do," muttered Tolliver when they stopped for a moment to wait for a light to change.

"What?"

"I have absolutely nothing better to do."

Regulus frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Tolliver sighed. Or, at least, he made a sound remarkably like a death rattle that Regulus assumed was meant to be a sigh. "I just mean that if you want to wander around in muggle limbo for the rest of the afternoon you don't have to lie and tell me we're going to see some girl just to get me to stay because it's not like I'd be doing anything else more interesting if I weren't with you."

"That's very comforting."

"I thought it would be." Tolliver glanced from the traffic light to Regulus and then, out of habit, to the aching skin on his bare shoulders. "If we're not going any place in particular, can we turn left and stop standing here on the corner like a couple of idiots? It looks likes there's a nice little café over there if you've got any muggle money."

"I never said we weren't going anywhere in particular."

"Well, then I say we just run for it like that pair just did," said Tolliver, nodding to a young couple that had just successfully dodged traffic to cross to the other side of the street.

"Those car things are deadly! Anyway, what makes you think I'd have muggle money, let alone that I'd buy you a drink with it?" He turned to see Tolliver halfway down the street, smiling crookedly at a girl exiting the café as he maneuvered around her and into the small shop.

---

Peter Tolliver was a failure at many things. He still reserved some hope in the fact that he hadn't tried everything yet, thus leaving open the possibility that he might be good at something. He was an optimistic youth. Every girl he encountered, for example the girl pushing open the door in front of him, was a potential lover, and as that girl passed him and his enthusiastic smile by without a second glance, he shrugged off the failure without a second thought. There was always another girl.

The shop would have seemed much less impressive than it had looked from the outside even if Tolliver hadn't been raised in a world where rooms very often were bigger on the inside than they had any right to be. He took a seat at a small table for two, which was where Regulus found him several minutes later when he realized that Tolliver really was determined to enjoy what the cleverly named Le Café had to offer.

"You'll have to wait for the waitress to come back if you want anything," said Tolliver as Regulus reluctantly took the opposing seat.

"You ordered?"

"Well, of course. You can't just expect to sit in a place and take up space without buying anything." He wriggled a bit, trying to restrain himself from attacking the constant itch of sunburn that was beginning to get the better of him.

"Even if you don't want to try anything yourself, you can buy something for that," said Regulus, indicating Tolliver's shoulders.

"I'm not stupid. Anyway, all you can only get stuff that'll heal it, and I don't want it to heal, I want it to tan."

"I think that's a bit of a lost cause."

"Says you."

A young waitress with a distracted look appeared with a cup of tea and appeared not to notice Tolliver's enthusiasm as she placed it in front of him. "Anything for you, sir?" she asked Regulus.

"No, thank you," he replied dismissively. As soon as she had moved out of earshot he leaned across the table. "How do you plan on paying for that?"

"I don't." He sighed. "Look, I understand that know is a really bad time to be playing muggle dress-up for anyone that doesn't want to end up with the Dark Mark over their house, but don't pretend that I don't know you do it. And I do believe that one of the significant strengths of our friendship is that I can trust that you'll always carry a little extra cash." He smirked over the edge of his raised teacup.

Regulus was caught between an urge to strangle Tolliver and one to storm out of the café and leave him to explain why he had to pay in knuts. He decided instead on throwing himself back in the chair and glaring.

Tolliver set his cup down gently. "Shall I order us some scones?"

Regulus grunted something indistinct and pulled a small wad of muggle money out of his back pocket. He separated a few bills from the stack as he stood, laid them on the table, and walked out of the shop, leaving Tolliver to have one last stab at an inviting wink at the waitress.


End file.
